


Red-handed

by IchiBri



Series: JMMonth2017 [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Illegal Activities, M/M, cat burglar!Jean, ghost hunter!Marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:17:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchiBri/pseuds/IchiBri
Summary: Cat burglar Jean is after a rich dude's safe.  He's close to cracking it when a ghost hunter interrupts him.JeanMarcoMonth2017 - Generator Day





	Red-handed

**Author's Note:**

> Safe cracking is a lot more complicated than what Jean does, but for the sake of the story, let's just pretend he knows what he's doing.

Jean had cased the place for weeks.  A three-story colonial house, its wrap around porch and immaculately trimmed lawn with pristine shrub figurines screamed money.  Motion lights lined the asphalt driveway, and thick white pillars held up the second-story balcony.  A shiny black Mercedes and a ’65 Ford Mustang sat in the driveway, both spotless despite their nearly everyday use.  And the owner, well, Jean would easily say the old dude was loaded.  Pressed three-piece suits were everyday attire, and the guy’s multiple mistresses were dressed in pearls and diamonds from head to toe.

It was the perfect score.  Mr. Moneybags wasn’t too keen on banks, something Jean would never understand of that generation.  The guy’s money would be far safer in a bank vault than in a safe hidden behind a painting, but to each their own.  And it made Jean’s job easier, so who was he to complain?

And tonight was the night.  The owner would be leaving for a weekend business conference across the country.  All Jean had to do was sit in his car two blocks down and wait for the guy to leave.  Then once night fell, he could get to work.

Jean slumped low in his seat as he watched a taxi pull up and the man emerge from the house with luggage in tow.  He ducked low and waited for them to drive past, checking in the rearview mirror to see the car turn down the street.  It would be a couple more hours before night fell, but he passed the time by going over his plan in his head.

When the sun finally set, Jean grabbed a duffle bag from the passenger seat before slinking into the dark of night.  Camouflaged in all black, he moved swiftly like a cat, running along the shadows and avoiding the few streetlamps.  He crossed the grass in long, rapid strides until the shadow of the house concealed him even further.

Slinging the duffle bag over his shoulder, it settled against his back as he reached for the porch railing.  He used a hand for balance and lithely hopped atop the thin rail.  Bracing against a pillar, Jean straightened.  He swung his arms for momentum before jumping up and grabbing hold of the balcony ledge.

His fingers curled as he hefted his weight up.  Lodging an elbow on the ledge, he pushed his body higher until he could grab onto the balcony railing.  One hand above the other, he wiggled his way up until he could climb onto the balcony.

For some odd reason, the old dude who owned the place didn’t believe locking second-story windows was necessary.  Which, for future reference, it absolutely was.  Because for someone like Jean, it was only too easy to climb up the balcony and push open the guest bedroom’s window.  This wasn’t the first time he crawled through the windowsill in the past couple weeks, and yet the dude still didn’t learn his lesson.  Not even after the incident of Jean knocking over a lamp and leaving the window wide open in his retreat.

But whatever.  Jean thanked all that was holy for his luck.  There couldn’t be an easier target for him.

Jean slid the window closed behind him.  By the dim light of the moon shining through thin silk curtains, Jean navigated around a canopy bed frame.  There wasn’t any jewelry or money stashed in the guest room, so he exited to the pitch-black hall.

His designation was at the end of the hall through a pair of double French doors.  He pushed open one of them and stepped into a large, yet quite bare study.  Besides a massive mahogany desk, a single office chair occupied the room.  A pair of bookshelves faced opposite each other on the walls, but Jean wasn’t interested in the books.

What he sought hung on the wall directly behind the desk.  He walked to stand in front of it and stared for a short moment.  Even in the darkness, he could make out the huntsman on horseback and the white splotches of the hounds at their legs.  It was a rather sophisticated painting, and he supposed it matched the elegance of its home, but Jean still wasted no time in lifting it from the wall.

“There you are, my precious,” he practically purred at the safe mounted into the wall.

His hand reached out, feathering his fingers along the safe’s handle and over its dial.  The cold steel sent a tantalizing shiver down his spine as he gulped.  Shortly, its contents would be his.

But first he had to open it.  For which, Jean came prepared.  He dropped his duffle bag atop the desk and unzipped its pocket.  From within, he pulled out a small flashlight and a stethoscope.

As he turned back to the safe, Jean placed the stethoscope tips in his ears and flicked on the flashlight.  He popped the flashlight in his mouth and held it between his teeth.  After a deep, calming breath, Jean got to work.

He turned the dial to reset its lock before placing the stethoscope bell beside it.  Closing his eyes, he focused on the safe as he slowly rotated the dial counterclockwise.  When he heard the first soft click, he opened his eyes.  He shined the flashlight at the dial to see its numbers as he slowly continued to turn it.

At the second click, Jean smirked.  He noted the number before resetting the lock again.  Another two attempts to be sure, and Jean had the first number.

As he worked on the second, Jean paused at a sound.  But it wasn’t the faint click of the tumblers he was waiting for.  No, he swore it came from the first floor of the house.

He lowered the stethoscope around his neck and stilled, waiting and listening for even the slightest of noises.  But after a few minutes of nothing but his thumping heartbeat, Jean shrugged it off and returned to cracking the safe.

21-41-?

The final number was all Jean needed.  He pressed so close to the safe that his forehead rested on its cold metal.  His wrist turned with the calculated precision of a brain surgeon as he counted clicks.

“Ahh!  Who the hell are you?”

Jean jolted, nearly lodging the flashlight down his throat.  He keeled over with a sputtering cough as the flashlight dropped to the hardwood floor.  Moisture pooling in the corners of his eyes, Jean sucked in a breath of much needed air as he clutched at his chest.

Blinking through the pain constricting his throat, Jean raised his head to stare wide-eyed at the intruder.  Some sort of camera strapped to the stranger’s forehead, Jean probably would’ve laughed if there wasn’t another camcorder pointed right at him.

But maybe, just maybe, he could talk his way out of this.  “Who the hell are you?” he countered.

“Uh,” the man stared blankly at Jean, the camcorder in his hand lowering.  Slowly, and without taking his eyes off Jean, the man reached to his left to flick on the lights.

Both of them squinted against the brightness.  Jean’s eyes adjusted first, and he was met with a soft, rounded face and cheeks covered in freckles.  Stray strands of hair stuck out beneath the velcro straps holding the camera to his forehead.  The man’s eyelids fluttered as he blinked to adjust his surroundings.

Jean visibly gulped as the other’s eyes widened at the sight of the stethoscope hanging around Jean’s neck.  “I was hired to, uh, open the safe,” he muttered.

“In the middle of the night?  When the owner is away?” the other crossed his arms over his chest as he cocked a hip in question.

“Excuse me,” Jean dared to raise his voice as he stood, “but what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

“Me?  Oh, well you see, Mr. Scheiter’s been hearing noises up here for the past couple weeks and thought his house was haunted.  Turns out he just has a rat.”

“A rat,” Jean scoffed.  “I’ll have you know I’m a licensed locksmith.”

“Uh-huh, cause locksmiths often wear all black and work in the dark, right?” the man arched an eyebrow.

“What would you know?  You’re just a… a…  I don’t know, probably a thief,” Jean sputtered as his eyes darted around the room for alternate exits.  The doors he came in through were no longer an option with Mr. Vigilante blocking his path.

“Actually, I’m a ghost hunter.”

Jean blinked, “Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jean stared at the other man, locking eyes for a tense moment, before bursting out with laughter.

“At least I’m not a burglar!” the man huffed.

Jean immediately sobered at his words.  He was screwed.  This guy caught him red-handed, and Jean would bet every dollar in the safe that he was on tape too.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Technically, I haven’t stolen anything.”

“Breaking and entering.”

“Didn’t break anything either.  I came in through an unlocked window.”

“Really?  Who leaves their windows unlocked in this day and age?”

“Right?  That’s what I thought too!”

Both of them glanced at each other before matching puffs of amusement escaped them.

“What’s your name?” Jean asked.

“Marco.  Yours?”

“Jean.”  When Marco nodded, Jean continued, “Okay, Marco, how about we both just walk out of here?  I don’t take anything, and you get to say you exercised the ghost or some shit.”

“It’s exorcised,” Marco corrected.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.  How ‘bout it?”

Marco rubbed a thumb along his jaw as he contemplated.  “Fine, but I better not be called back here for another ghost.”

“Oh, trust me, you won’t.”  Because Jean swore he wouldn’t be caught next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me @ichibri on tumblr and twitter


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